Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, The wan moon is setting behind the white wave, False friends, false love, farewell! for mair She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide; I do not know whether this song be really mended. No. No. XVI. MR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON. JESSIE. Tune-"BONNIE DUNDEE." TRUE hearted was he, the sad swain o'the Yarrow, O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning, No. No. XVII. MR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS. Edinburgh, 2d April, 1793. I WILL not recognize the title you give yourself, "the Prince of indolent correspondents;" but if the adjective were taken away, I think the title would then fit you exactly. It gives me pleasure to find you can furnish anecdotes with respect to most of the songs: these will be a literary curiosity. I now send you my list of the songs, which I believe will be found nearly complete. I have put down the first lines of all the English songs which I propose giving in addition to the Scotch verses. If any others occur to you, better adapted to the character of the airs, pray mention them, when you favour me with your strictures upon every thing else relating to the work. Pleyel has lately sent me a number of the songs, with his symphonies and accompaniments added added to them. I wish you were here, that I might serve up some of them to you with your own verses, by way of desert after dinner. There is so much delightful fancy in the symphonies, and such a delicate simplicity in the accompaniments-they are indeed beyond all praise. I am very much pleased with the several last productions of your muse: your Lord Gregory, in my estimation, is more interesting than Peter's, beautiful as his is! Your Here awa Willie must undergo some alterations to suit the air. Mr. Erskine and I have been conning it over; he will suggest what is necessary to make them a fit match.* The * WANDERING WILLIE, As altered by Mr. Erskine and Mr. Thomson. Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie, Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. Winter The gentleman I have mentioned, whose fine taste you are no stranger to, is so well pleased both with the musical and poetical part of our work, that he has volunteered his assistance, and has already written four songs for it, which by his own desire I send for your perusal. Winter-winds blew loud and caul at our parting, Rest ye wild storms in the cave o' your slumbers, And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. But oh, if he's faithless and minds na his Nanie, While dying I think that my Willie's my ain. Our poet, with his usual judgment, adopted some of these alterations, and rejected others. The last edition is as follows: Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, VOL. IV. E Winter |